


Self-Inflicted

by bree darcy (percyval)



Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Angst, Based on a Katy Perry Song, Basil and Henry Being Besties, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Lotsa Hallward Family Goodness, M/M, Modern Era, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Sarcastic Basil, Self-Harm, Song fic, Underage Drinking, americanized, maybe some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percyval/pseuds/bree%20darcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basil had an awful relationship only months back, one that makes him self-destructive and unhappy with how he let it ruin him.</p><p>Henry has otherwise had no experience loving boys, but he does consider it after he and Basil meet at a party and instantly bond over almost everything.</p><p>Maybe a sardonic wannabe-philosopher and a self-deprecating loner can make all the difference to each other, positive or negative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basil

I can't believe it.

I'm letting myself snarl and scowl in public just because my father's ignorance and stupidity about sensitive topics. He's oblivious to my anger, even while it should be beaming across the table. Why does he continue to rant when he knows no one wants to hear it?

For this couple of weeks, his hot-button issue is homosexuality. The "faggots" are infecting poor teenager's minds and making them "think they want to fuck other illusioned fags." He needs to stop trying with words.

"All those gay folks - something should be done about it. That conversion therapy doesn't sound to harsh, does it? It seems perfectly humane. Y'know. It's just fixing broken goods." He tries to gesture his hands to support his points. But that doesn't help him.

"Well, I personally think that is how they will be. And that nothing should change them." My mother takes a bite into her coil of pasta, and her eyes don't even meet my father's.

I _love_ my mother.

My dad looks over at her, and he groans.

"Why are you even trying, Helen? You know that it's wrong. You've always agreed with me before, what's with the sudden sympathy towards those faggots?"

I cringe at his language. Why won't he just let up for a minute?

Mom says nothing. She just smiles, and keeps eating, as if she'd never stood up to Dad.

"Why are so many more kids coming out these days? Helen, back when we were kids, everyone was straight. All these fuckers are turning kids fucking gay."

"Maybe they were too scared of the backlash. There's just as many gay kids now as there were back then."

Oh god. I just got myself involved. _Shit_.

"Woah woah _woah_ , Basil, don't defend those bullshitters. You're sounding like a sympathizer. And you're the only straight son I have."

Oh fuck. I guess he thinks I'm still straight.

\--

_My ex-boyfriend was a little less than subtle about his sexuality. And he had no respect for keeping other's identities secret._

_One night, he was having a "mental breakdown." It was pretty obvious he lied about all his mental illness, which was a dick move. He started whining and straining his throat and claiming that I was abusing him. After he forced me into "I'm going away" sex. It felt like absolutely nothing. But that's not the point._

_He pushed me into a wall and told me that I shouldn't have "denied" him my body the night before he was going to leave. "We're boyfriends, I get every right to your body." Same mindset that pressured me into consenting to sex I never wanted to have._

_My face went rigid, and I moved downstairs to sit with my mom. I fell asleep down there, because I thought he was going to kill me if I slept upstairs with him that night._

_He decided that he was going to talk to my dad. And admit that we were dating._

_My dad said nothing to me after that, except for how he was mentally ill and needed help. And how I was ruining his whole vacation._

_Of course. Put the blame on the one being abused._

_"Why the fuck would you do that to him?"_

_Oh, sorry, I didn't know I had to wait on hand and foot for him._

_Dad complained to my mom, and I curled up on the couch. Crying into a pillow. Too upset to keep trying to defend myself. I thought it was all my fault. And that's just what my ex wanted me to think, of course. That everything had been my fault, and that I ruined everything for_ him _\- the one with a future, the one who had more love being thrown at him._

_Back then no one was showing me any kind of support. So I just took it, sniffling and holding my fists together while I believed no one actually cared._

_I felt jealous because he had so many friends online. Of course he did. He lied about everything and got himself heaps of love because of that._

_And once we broke up after a long while of him leaving, he already was hitting on every single person who he had talked to before. And his ex. Saying that he needed him more than I did. So I felt like shit._

_I didn't get out of that funk for months. That funk of wanting to kill myself. Hating everything I did. Thinking that I'd done everything wrong._

_And everyone sympathized with my ex. Saying that I'd done it all wrong, that I ruined his already awful life. Thanks, Dad. Thanks for not recognizing that just because I had one awful relationship with another boy doesn't mean that I'd given up on boys entirely._

\--

"Yeah. Sure. Just because I'm straight that doesn't mean I can't want equality between everyone."

That finally shuts him up. Great. So we can go back to eating our food and having an otherwise pleasant dinner.

\--

It hurts thinking about my ex again.

So I slash the sharpest edge of a pair of scissors against my forearm. That only causes red scratch marks to bubble up, but that's good enough. They'll only last a few days, unfortunately, but I can always go in later and run over them again, possibly even open them up if I put more force onto them.

It's unfortunate trying to make my self harm seem anything more than simply pathetic. Because really, that's just all it is.

And I don't know why I keep doing it if I don't think it to be any kind of therapy. Maybe it's just a hobby at this point.

I push the scissors back onto my desk, and stare at the scars left in the dim light. Fuck, I'm pathetic _and_ weak. What a lovely mix.

Maybe I should just stop trying.

Or maybe I should switch it up and try something new.

And the latter does sound quite lovely right about now.

 


	2. Basil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basil goes to a party in a vain attempt to make himself feel better.
> 
> Henry is the host of this party, and decides to single out Basil as his platonic conquest.

God, I never realized how romanticized high school parties are in the media.

I expected beer pong, a group of stoners hunched in the corner passing a joint, dancing to upbeat 80's anthems, being deemed cool enough to be a wallflower.

Well, maybe that last part was just from my extensive love of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

I held a red cup of some cheap alcohol, my head buzzing from the terrible music and from the secondhand high I was reaching. How could anyone enjoy something so messy and uncomfortable?

Maybe that was just me being elitist, but it felt really awkward seeing four couples making out on my way to the master bedroom of the house to collapse and fall asleep. I finish the whole cup of very bitter, sterile-tasting beer, and sit down on the crumpled comforter, maybe a tear or two escaping my eyes as I think of every single thing I shouldn't have even been giving second thought to this late at night.

Why does life have to be like this? Why is it so easy to make mistakes that will likely haunt you for the rest of your years? Why can't you ever just catch a break when you really need it?

Oh fuck, of course I have to start tearing up.

My face is in my hands, and I'm hunched over, sobbing and whining about my life. It's not even bad compared to anyone else's. Why can't I stop wallowing in self pity?

"What the hell is going on here?"

I shoot up, my face is red and there are wet blotches all over my hoodie and my cheeks.

"Oh, fucking hell. I'm sorry. I wandered up here, I'll go." I stand up, and a hand shoots out, grabbing my left wrist as I pass by the boy who was questioning me.

He's tall. I can't make out his face with all the tears in my eyes, but I'm certain he's handsome.

Warm eyes, hot temper, lovely smirk playing on his mouth.

The muffled music from the living room sounds like some kinda watered-down pop rock. The boy stares down at me, he looks a bit too happy I stumbled into the room.

"Are you drunk?" He motions towards the cup I threw on the ground.

I shake my head, and he sits me down on the bed.

His other hand held a bottle. Well, getting drunk would be nicer than anything else, really.

He tips the bottle back, downing about three sips of alcohol. I watch, because he can make drinking vodka look appealing.

His lips curl into a sneer, and he passes the bottle to me.

"You'll enjoy yourself more if you're drunk," he says, and I decide to take the plunge.

Why not? I'll be inebrieated, it'll be lovely. Is inebrieated even the word I'm looking for? I don't know. Intoxication will turn my brain off and that's all I want.

"I know you." He murmurs, his gaze knowing. "We have the same lunch. And we both spend it in the library."

I cock an eyebrow as I drain the last quarter of the bottle. It burns, and smells awful, but I don't care about my comfort anymore. Especially when I've decided to talk with this guy I don't know.

"Yeah. I sit in that little crevice between the Nazi and Communist books." I smile, and he nods back in response.

"I went to get one of those books. You strained to keep your distance from me. And then you went hunched over your phone." He smiles, his smile feels sly, like a fox.

I can barely keep myself afloat. I fall back onto the bed, and laugh slightly.

"Yeah, sounds like me."

He lies down beside me, and reaches out his right hand.

"I'm Henry. And you somehow stumbled into my party."

His hand feels warm when I grab it, and I really want to just throw myself into all that heat. But I can't manage to do that. Because it's too soon and he's probably straight. Fuck this, I hate playing guessing games like this.

My ability of falling in love quickly is terribly annoying. I wish I could do it less, or maybe just not immediately fall in love with any attractive boy that gives me a second glance. Again, I have to play that goddamned guessing game, maybe those warm glances are just how he stares at everybody. And maybe they are some sort of sign he's interested in me. But I couldn't exactly know that, now could I?

Asking him this early would be terribly awkward, and now I'm stuck in the loop of wanting to ask but not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

"Basil. I'm Basil." I finally remember to introduce myself.

Henry grins, and I feel my chest start to clench as he runs a finger over mine. He's drunk. He has to be.

"Well, Basil, would you like to spend the rest of the night hanging out with me?" His smirk is infectious, and I return the expression.

Henry rubs his finger along my knuckle, and I wish I wanted to draw my hand away. I wish he'd brought more alcohol when he barged in here. I wish I wasn't so fucking awful with all of this stuff.

"Sure. Do you have more vodka or whatever?"

"Yeah. What do you like?" He sits up, and I want to pull him back down onto my level.

"I'll drink anything you put in front of me at this point," I smile, and he grins.

"Perfect."

\--

By the time Henry returns with about three more bottles of alcohol, I've picked at the broken skin fraying off of my wounds. One of my scratches is bleeding, and I pull the sleeve down as soon as I recognize he's in the room.

Henry sets them down, and throws himself down onto the bed. I glance over at him, and he hands me a bottle. I think he locked the door when he entered.

We sit up on the pillows, and he pops open his bottle. I can barely understand what's going on, but Henry seems convinced that downing a whole bottle will help with conversation. Maybe. I can't even comprehend my thoughts at this point.

"Are you gonna drink anything, Baz?" He questions, his voice starting to slur. It doesn't sound too bad.

But I take a long swig, and I don't attempt to appreciate or cringe at the taste. I am likely being much too harsh, because this stuff isn't high-quality. I should stop being so mean to cheaper beer. Because I feel like relying on it daily just to help me get through everyday situations.

But this is the first time I've had more than a sip, and I think I'm doing quite well at handling my liquor.

Until I throw myself over the side of the bed, retching with tears in my eyes while Henry keeps me from hitting the ground. That might have been too much.

He brushes some locks of hair away from my cold forehead, holding my shoulders and massaging them while bile escapes my throat. It burns, acidic and tasting near-poisonous. Henry does, for some reason, starting hushing me when I sit back down on the bed, tears trickling down my face the second time this night, telling me that I'm going to be okay.

"I don't want you crying. Please. Just stop drinking and relax. You've had too much."

The expert has determined I can't handle more than two cups of alcohol. Probably better he tells me when to stop than myself.

So I curl up into the bed, I kick my shoes off and they land at the foot of the bed. I push them off, and settle under the covers, trying to keep myself warm.

Henry takes a sip every now and again, but he takes watch over me. His eyes match the shade of the tinted bottle he's holding, and that makes me smile gently.

"I've never befriended someone after they puked on my parent's carpet, but tonight's gonna be a first. Do you want to be friends with me, Basil?"

Henry's hand pushes my hair back, and I feel my lips curl up into a grin. His touch feels comfortable, even familiar, despite my recent acquiantance to it. And I do still want him to press a kiss onto my forehead, or pull himself in further and hold me against him, but he doesn't. He ruffles my hair, and then drags a finger down my temple only a moment before setting down on the pillow just centimeters away from my head.

Maybe he's just an affectionate drunk. And I really hope that's the case. I want him to guzzle that whole bottle and kiss me, even if his mouth tastes foul and hoppy. And I want to become pinned underneath his pelvis and hands, while I grab onto his cheeks and move them onto his neck, my nails grabbing into the skin. He'll groan, low and ragged, while he moves one hand down to play with the hem of my pants. I'll cry out when his fingers find their way under the rough denim, and once he starts teasing me I'll beg for him to keep going, all while my breathing becomes high and quick.

And my fantasies come to an end once Henry leans down to press his face into the side of my neck. He's buried under the covers, and he wraps an arm over me, the other rested above my head.

"I hope you're comfortable like this," he whispers, the hot air coming from his mouth tickling my neck. I wish I could make any other attractive noise, but I end up exhaling with a gentle "Mmm" escaping my lips.

Henry smirks, and nuzzles into my neck. "You like this, don't you?"

I grin, my eyes have been closed a while and I can't see what he's doing, but his hands are still where he left them.

For once, something even slightly romantic is actually comfortable. I feel no pressure, it's a great release from all that terrible lying and faking pleasure that I had to do just to let myself feel safe.

Henry feels safe.


	3. Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they wake up together in bed.
> 
> Unfortunately, it's not going to last for long.

I wake up with my face pressed against another boy's neck.

Now, most of the time this is completely reasonable, and it's not even a problem. But there's vomit on the carpet and his shirt is halfway removed. My arms were wrapped around him when I first hazily woke up, but now I'm sitting up, staring at him.

Why am I in bed with him?

"Hey, Basil?" I shake him, and he moans.

He sits up, his eyes half-open and his face is pale. Basil looks like he slept heavily, and I wouldn't deny that he had.

"What. . .?" He groans, rubbing sleep from his eyes and throwing long locks of hair out of his face. Those locks are very soft, and he rakes them back in an attempt to see me, and look more presentable.

Basil smiles so gently, and leans up against me, yawning.

What the fuck does he think he's doing?

I flinch back, and Basil furrows his brows. He looks distraught, and I'm sure that's on my own account, but I still scowl and avoid eye contact with him. His eyes are green like absinthe, and just as bitter.

"Were you here all night?" I ask, and he nods quickly.

"You were here with me, for the most part. I think. You were probably here."

"Well, maybe you should leave. Where do you live?" I get up, pulling my shoes back on. It's not like me, but Basil's still hungover and likely doesn't live close by. So I'll walk him at least halfway there.

I'll wake up, and can easily just run to Victoria's apartment for breakfast. And he'll get escorted home with company. No bad side to it.

"I live in that. . .uhm, Grey Apartments. Down two blocks." He tries to find his shoes, and grabs his hoodie.

His arm is streaked with a thin line of blood. I would ask him how that happened, but he can't exactly speak articulately.

Basil and I trod through the ugly mess of the aftermath of the party, and he starts feeling ashamed for possibly contributing to the mess.

"The maid's coming by at noon. My mom won't be back till five, it's all fine, Baz." _Baz._ What the fuck kind of nickname is Baz?

Ugh, fuck me. Now my stomach's growling and clenching, punishing me for relying on other people to bring food. Sure, a girl brought a huge plate of pot brownies, but I didn't get my hands on even one before I saw a boy wandering up to my parent's room. And now I'm starving and walking him home at eight in the morning.

"Henry, thanks for walking me home," he smiles, wincing at the sun while he turns to look at me.

I say nothing back, but Basil still looks perfectly pleased. He's acting like he had the best fuck of his life and I was wholly responsible. But that didn't happen, and I'm certain of it.

Basil looks up at the apartment complex, and starts dragging me to his door.

"Hey, I need to go," I growl, and he sighs.

"Fine, thank you for taking me home, goodbye." He presses a kiss to my cheekbone, and quietly lets himself inside.

Once he's clicked the door locked again, he's getting quite loudly ranted at for being out so late. I hear skin-to-skin contact, and flinch. By now I should be retreating to Victoria's apartment, but it is distressing hearing the screams and arguing.

A deeper voice apologizes, and tells whoever it hit that "you still need to be punished, no matter me hitting you or not."

I'm standing on the porch, my ear against the door now. The muffled crying is likely Basil, but it's high enough to be his mom. And I feel bad for not knocking and interrupting this feud. But it's not my business.

I caused Basil to stay home, but in hindsight it was safer to bring him home while we were both conscious. Or maybe my ideas are shit, and it would have been better to bring him home last night, where he would have been taken care of. His dad might have been pissed, but he could suck it the fuck up.

However, cuddling with Basil last night was insanely comfortable while it was happening. I'm hypocritical.

I slip down into the driveway, and run two blocks down, to Victoria's place. I really regret leaving him. But I shouldn't let it bother me. Because Basil isn't close to me yet, no matter all the cuddling.

So I leave. I leave some boy I don't know and that actually starts to sting. But Victoria is waiting. And I really don't want to piss her off, she's pretty much one of my only best friends.

And while I could lie and say we just had breakfast and I left, in all reality I cornered her up into a wall and fucked her senseless. Just how we always did.

Victoria sent me off, smirking and making me promise I'd come back tonight.

I smirk right back.

"Only if I feel like it."


End file.
